Klaine Advent-ures 2017
by It'sNotEasyBeingQueen
Summary: My offerings for Klaine Advent 2017. Merry Klainemas!
1. Attachment

**Attachment**

Kurt decided to reward himself on the last day of finals with a stop in his favorite coffee shop. With the stress of his last exam behind him, he could now appreciate the nip in the air and the festive decorations heralding the holiday season. He even decided to indulge in a peppermint latte, just for fun.

After merrily returning the amazingly chipper barista's wish for a happy holiday, he walked out onto the New York streets, ready to absorb some yuletide cheer. It was nearly dark, and the windows of the surrounding storefronts all shone with twinkle lights and glitter. Perhaps that was the reason why he was too distracted to notice the young man approaching him.

Said young man had his own distractions, somehow managing to navigate a busy city sidewalk while reading a rather thick novel at the same time. He didn't even break his stride when he raised a hand to adjust his black-rimmed glasses, which had a tendency to slide down his nose whenever he walked and read (which he did a lot). Perhaps that was why he didn't see the tall young man as he exited the café, latte in hand.

"Oof!"

"Oh, what…? Ow!"

The two bumped into one another, tumbling to the ground and into the little alcove that led to the café door. One latte and one novel went flying as two strangers ended up tangled together.

"Oh, my gosh! I am so sorry!" the shorter man exclaimed.

"No, no, it was my fault. I wasn't…looking…" the other man said, his words fading out as he overcame the initial shock of falling and looked upwards at the man half lying on top of him. The man was about his age, frightfully handsome, with amber eyes that were made even more stunning thanks to the slight magnification afforded by his glasses. His thick black hair was gelled back in a style reminiscent of old Hollywood, and his cheeks bore a rosy glow, either from the cold weather or, Kurt suspected, from a bit of shy embarrassment. As for his clothes, he was wearing an amazingly soft blue and yellow cashmere argyle sweater that was – oh.

"Um," Kurt began, his hands going to the other man's shoulders. "Could you, maybe…" he gestured vaguely.

"Oh, oh, of course! I'm so sorry." The blush rose higher in his cheeks as he seemed to realize that he was effectively keeping Kurt pinned to the ground. "I'm so clumsy sometimes, I just, ah..." he rambled, stopping when he realized that he couldn't completely pull away from the man beneath him.

"Careful!" Kurt warned, immediately identifying the problem. The brooch on Kurt's jacket had snagged on Blaine's sweater, sticking firmly and not wanting to let go.

"Sorry!" came the third apology. Kurt had a feeling this poor boy did that a lot.

"I'm Kurt," he said, awkwardly moving one hand between them to offer a handshake.

"Blaine," the handsome stranger (well, not a stranger anymore) replied, taking Kurt's hand in a firm, yet gentle, hold that went on a few seconds longer than a normal handshake – not that either one seemed to mind.

"Well, Blaine, we appear to be in a bit of a predicament here," Kurt laughed lightly, glancing down at where they were connected. "Maybe if we just, kind of…" he wriggled, trying to move into a sitting position, Blaine doing the same. "Easy, the brooch is vintage," he cautioned when Blaine pulled away too sharply, "and this cashmere sweater is far too nice to damage, too," he added, stroking the fabric across Blaine's shoulder without realizing how familiar a gesture that was.

"Okay, maybe if we do this," Blaine offered shyly, reaching out a hand, pulling it back, then apparently finding his courage and reaching out once more, wrapping an arm around Kurt to pull him close. Somehow, the two managed to move together to come into a standing position without disengaging far enough to cause any harm.

Once upright, a brief awkward pause ensued. Blaine glanced away, letting out a little squeak of surprise when Kurt's hands came to his biceps and swung him to the side, trying to move out of the way of the door as another customer exited the shop. Kurt gave him a warm smile when he finally looked back up.

"Lovely as this is, I don't think we can stay like this forever," Kurt quipped.

"Oh, right, I, uh…" Blaine fumbled a bit, then raised his hands towards the brooch. "May I?" he asked politely. Kurt nodded, and held in a breath as Blaine's fingers gingerly moved around the brooch and sweater. After a moment or two, he slipped the last sweater thread off of the tip of the pin, and the two were free.

"Well done!" Kurt cheered, his hands flying to his lapel to confirm no damage was done. He then checked Blaine's sweater, finding that it had not fared as well. "Aw, it snagged," he murmured, touching the spot delicately. Glancing up, he smirked when he saw Blaine's face. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, and his lower lip had taken up residence between his teeth. Really, he was too adorable for his own good, Kurt thought.

"It's fine, Kurt," Blaine offered, stepping back and looking around. "Oh!" he cried, bending down and picking up his book and checking it over, letting out a sigh of relief when he was satisfied that no harm had come to it. That was fortunate, because not far from his book lay one empty coffee cup and a puddle. He picked up the cup and tossed it in the nearby trash. "I think I owe you a coffee, though," he said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it, Blaine," Kurt replied.

Blaine stepped forward, biting his lip briefly once more. "Please?" he asked. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee? You can tell me about your brooch," he added, hesitantly reaching out and touching the brooch with his finger and thumb to straighten it. "It's lovely."

"Thanks," Kurt said, his hand reflexively coming up to touch the silver snowflake, brushing against Blaine's fingers as they retreated. "It was my mother's."

The two looked at each other then, smiling. "So, coffee?" Kurt asked. Blaine's face lit up with happiness, and he responded by pulling the door open and standing aside for Kurt to enter.

Perhaps it was the twinkle lights, or the chill in the air. Maybe it was the soft Christmas carol being played by the guitarist in the corner of the coffee shop, or the sweetness of the two peppermint lattes that sat on the table between them. Whatever it was, one thing was clear: An attachment occurred that lovely winter day that had _nothing_ to do with jewelry or cashmere sweaters.

 _A/N: Day 1 done! I will admit that I had this idea earlier today, but before I had a chance to write it, someone else wrote a story about Kurt's brooch getting caught on Blaine's sweater. I thought about scrapping the idea, but then nerd!Blaine came into play and I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy!_


	2. Bucket

Bucket

"Rach, it was _awful_ ," Kurt complained into his phone, mouthing a "thank you" to the barista handing him his coffee. "He kept asking all these weird questions until I finally realized he was rooting around to see if I was rich or not. When he found out I wasn't, he said 'too bad' and left! I mean, who does that?"

"Oh, Kurt, I'm sorry," Rachel sympathized. "I'm sure the next guy will be better."

"No, that's it. I'm done," he declared, stirring a little cinnamon into his drink and securing the travel lid again. "No more. I'm going off the market for a while. All I want is a nice, decent man with a good heart. Is that too much to ask?"

Rachel sighed on the other end of the line. "I know, Kurt. I know. Just don't close off your heart yet. You never know when the right one will come along," she encouraged.

"That's sweet, Rachel. You keep the faith for me until I'm ready to believe in humanity again, okay? Gotta run." He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, leaving the warm café and heading back outside to wintry, cold New York.

A few feet away from the door was one of the ubiquitous Salvation Army kettles, along with its requisite bell-ringer. As was his custom, Kurt reached into his pocket and retrieved the couple of dollars he had received as change when paying for his coffee. He approached the kettle, and took a glance at the man standing beside it.

Well, hello.

Kurt had seen any number of Salvation Army volunteers at the holiday season during his lifetime. This one was, by far, the cutest ever. He appeared to be mid-twenties, like Kurt, but where Kurt was fair with auburn hair and ocean-blue eyes, this man had a more olive complexion, with dark, wavy hair and brilliant hazel eyes that sparkled as he smiled his greeting to passers-by. He wore the volunteer's signature dark blue peacoat, and his uniform cap was perched atop his head at a jaunty angle. Kurt caught a glimpse of a red and green striped bowtie at his throat, and he even wore dark gray dress slacks and shiny dress shoes to complete his ensemble.

Kurt collected himself and approached, catching the handsome volunteer's eye. "Hello! Happy Holidays!" the young man called out, flashing his charming smile. Kurt smiled back, feeling the color rush to his cheeks and hoping the man would take it as a reaction to the cold.

"Hi there. Here you go," he returned, pulling his hand from his pocket and reaching forward to insert the dollars into the plus-shaped hole in the red bucket hanging from the metal frame. Just as he released the money and looked up, he thought he heard a metallic clink. That didn't make sense. He hadn't put any coins in, only bills. Unless…

With a rush of fear, Kurt looked down at his hand. "Oh, no!" he cried out. He reached for the bucket and pulled it towards him, bending down to look inside.

"Um, sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step back," Blaine said, not unkindly, but firmly.

Kurt looked up at the man and back down, realizing how this looked. He pulled his hand away and leapt back as if he'd been burned. "Oh, my gosh. I'm sorry. No, no, I'm not…it's just…oh, god," he rambled, putting his hand over his eyes.

He was startled by the touch of a hand to his arm. "Are you all right?" the volunteer asked, his voice sounding close. Kurt lowered his hand and found that the man had moved next to him, regarding him with no small amount of concern.

"I'm fine. Sorry, it's just – my ring. I dropped it in the kettle."

"You what?" the man asked.

"It was on my little finger. When it's cold out, my fingers get a little smaller and sometimes it falls off. I knew I shouldn't have worn it today," Kurt explained, almost speaking to himself at the end. "Anyway, if you wouldn't mind, can you just open the bucket and get it out for me?"

"I'm sorry, um…" the man prompted.

"Kurt."

"Hi, my name is Blaine," he answered, pulling off his glove and holding out his hand. Kurt smiled at the courtesy of the introduction and how Blaine removed his glove like a proper gentleman. He shifted his coffee from his right hand to his left and shook the warm, strong hand offered to him.

"Anyway," Blaine continued, after finally releasing Kurt's hand, "I am afraid I can't open it," he said. He reached over and spun the bucket around to reveal a small padlock fastening the lid and base together. "It stays locked until I deliver it to the office at the end of my shift. I don't have the key. It's a security thing, you understand," he explained apologetically.

Kurt didn't know what to say. He must have looked quite forlorn, though, because Blaine placed his hand back on his arm in a comforting gesture.

"Look, if you can wait about an hour, my shift will be over. I'd go now, but it's kind of the busiest time of the day here," he paused and thanked a donor who slipped a few coins in passing, "and I don't want to short the organization, you know?"

"Of course, of course," Kurt replied.

"So, I can give you the number for the office, and you can call them later," Blaine offered. Kurt's silence seemed to convey his hesitance about that suggestion. "I know you are probably concerned because your ring is valuable, but I promise, I'll make sure nothing happens between now and when I drop it at the office."

"Oh, it's not that," Kurt said, smiling sadly. "It really isn't worth very much. It's just a simple silver band, but it…it was my mother's."

"I see," Blaine said gently. "So it has sentimental meaning?" Kurt nodded, glancing at the red bucket swinging gently as another person dropped in some loose change. "Well, then, it's more valuable than I thought."

Kurt turned back to Blaine, sniffling softly to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

"Maybe," Blaine began, moving back to his original position and picking up his bell, "you'd prefer to stay here with me – um, with your ring, I mean – and then when I'm done, you can go with me to the office? It's just a couple of blocks away. They can open the kettle on the spot and get your ring back for you." He held out the bell to Kurt.

Kurt silently shushed the voice of Rachel in his head and took the proffered bell with a bright, grateful smile. A little over an hour later, he had the silver band back on his left hand, and the warm, strong hand of a nice, decent man with a good heart in his right.

 _A/N: Apparently, I like AU first meetings on café sidewalks and jewelry problems. Who knew?_


	3. Collapse

**Collapse**

A thud, a soft curse and some fumbling woke Blaine from a restless sleep. He opened one bleary eye and trained it on the clock next to the bed: 6:45 a.m.

"Kurrrrt," he whined into the dark room. "No."

"Go back to sleep, Blaine," Kurt answered, his froggy voice about half an octave lower than normal.

Blaine sat up and clicked on the lamp next to the clock. There was Kurt, standing next to the dresser in his pajamas. He held a bundle of clothing in his arms and had a guilty look on his face.

"Kurt," Blaine warned.

"Blaine," he argued, coughing harshly. "I have to go. I'm fine." He took a resolute step toward the bathroom, then stumbled, dropping his hippo brooch and one shoe on the floor and nearly tripping over them.

Blaine was beside him in a flash, steadying his sneezy, germy husband. "Come on, you. Back to bed," he ordered.

"But Blaine, I have a presentation today. I," he paused to cough again, "I have to go."

"No, you don't," Blaine said, steering Kurt toward the bed and sitting him down on the side. He took the clothes from his hands, and set about hanging them back in the closet. He knew that Kurt would never settle if his clothing was not properly put away. "I e-mailed Isabelle last night and told her you were sick. The presentation has been rescheduled for next week."

"Ugh, why did you do that?" Kurt complained.

"I did it because Vogue isn't about to collapse, but you are," he responded, closing the closet door and smirking. He paused to put the brooch back in Kurt's jewelry box and to set the errant shoe next to its mate. "Besides, snatching you from the brink of death seemed rather important."

" _Brink of death_? That's a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"You know, that's what I said, but you _insisted_ ," Blaine retorted, sitting next to Kurt on the bed.

"I insisted…um, what?" Kurt asked, clearly confused.

"Oh, about one o'clock this morning, you assured me you were on said brink. You made me swear that I wouldn't bury you in any synthetic fabrics," Blaine explained, trying to look serious.

Kurt's eyes grew wide. "I did what now?"

Blaine reached over and patted Kurt's hand where it rested on the comforter. "To be fair, you were pretty spaced out on that cough medicine the doctor gave you," he chuckled. "But yes, you made me swear on your Marion Cotillard issue of Vogue."

"You dug out my Marion Cotillard issue?" Kurt inquired. His old Vogues were buried in a box in the back of the closet.

"Oh, lord, no. It was one a.m. I raised my right hand and put my left on the TV Guide," he said with a shrug, earning a snort from Kurt that spawned another coughing fit. Blaine put his arm around him and held him until his breathing settled. "You asked me to have it notarized, but I didn't. I'm sorry," he apologized mockingly, blinking his big puppy dog eyes at Kurt.

"Oh, god," Kurt moaned, dropping his head into his hands. Blaine laughed lightly and held him close, rocking him gently and stroking his hair comfortingly.

"Now, how about you get back in bed and rest like you are supposed to do, huh?" Blaine asked around a yawn. Kurt wasn't the only one who was sleep-deprived, after all. Blaine had been up on and off all night checking on Kurt, making sure he wasn't too hot, or too cold, checking his breathing, and generally keeping an eye on him. He hadn't slept more than twenty minutes at a time, and it was taking a toll on him.

He shifted Kurt under the covers, adjusting his pillow just so and putting fresh water in the glass on the nightstand before settling in next to him. Just as Blaine was drifting off, he heard Kurt call his name.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah, sweetie," he answered sleepily.

"You wouldn't…you wouldn't actually put me in synthetic fibers, would you?"

"As the cast of Riverdale is my witness," Blaine declared, tenderly wrapping an arm around Kurt.

"Huh?" Kurt croaked.

"Cast of Riverdale. On the TV Guide. Go to sleep, Kurt."

 _A/N: I have no idea who or what is on the TV Guide, but the cast of Riverdale seemed kind of amusing. Hope you enjoyed. There's an Easter egg in here for VoyageAsia. She knows what it is, and why._


	4. Drink

**Drink**

"Hit me," Blaine demanded, slamming the empty vessel on the counter.

"Are you sure? That's your third," Kurt said warily.

"Look, if you aren't going to serve me, I'll just go to the place across the street and get what I want there."

"Now, now," Kurt chided. "No need to get surly." He poured another of what Blaine had been drinking and set it in front of him. It was usually against Kurt's nature to let anyone snap at him without meeting them with equal force, but Blaine got a pass tonight.

"How dare he," Blaine growled. "I'm thirty years old. My grandmother's trust fund goes to me at thirty. Period. He has no right."

Over the past hour and a half, in stilted bits between drinks, Blaine had conveyed the details of the conversation he'd had with his lawyer that afternoon. His father was trying to interfere with the terms of this grandmother's trust. While he was understandably frustrated by the delay in receiving the funds ("That is for our first house, Kurt,"), Blaine was infuriated because he knew his father was doing it out of spite. Blaine's grandmother was one of the few Andersons who had accepted and loved Blaine without question, both before and after he came out.

"Hit me again, and make it a double," Blaine said after about a half hour of silence.

"A double? Really?" Kurt asked, receiving a look of exasperation in response. "Fine, but after this, I'm cutting you off. I don't want to deal with the effects of this later."

"Whatever," Blaine said, toying with the empties on the counter in front of him, his mood moving from angry to sullen.

Later that evening, Blaine sat wrapped in Kurt's arms on the couch as Kurt carded his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry I was such a pain," he apologized quietly.

Kurt placed a soft kiss to his temple. "You weren't a pain. You were upset. If you can't express that to me, I'm not being a very good husband."

Blaine hummed in response and hugged Kurt a little tighter. "You know what's weird? I don't feel buzzed at all, even after all those drinks," he said.

"Well," Kurt began, wriggling on the couch so he and Blaine were facing one another, "I have to make a little confession about that."

"Confession?"

"Um, yeah. Well, after the first one, I switched you to decaf."

Blaine pulled back in shock. "Kurt, you didn't!"

"Oh, come on, Blaine. I knew you were going to have several more, and if you'd actually downed that many shots of espresso, you would have been bouncing off the walls for three days," Kurt reasoned.

"But Kurt. That's just…" Blaine faltered.

"Brilliant? Yes, I thought so," Kurt replied, chuckling and leaning forward to kiss his husband on the nose. "Anyway, I'm just glad I got you to stay here," he added, glancing back at their breakfast bar and the lineup of tiny espresso cups left there. "I was afraid you were going to bail and go to Starbucks or something."

"Please. As if. Even if it was decaf, the company is way better here."

Kurt giggled and bit his lip. "I guess I should also tell you that the last one? The 'double'?"

"Yes?" Blaine prompted.

"That one was straight hot chocolate," Kurt admitted, shrieking with laughter as Blaine playfully tackled him on the couch, pinning him down.

"Kurt," he whispered, looking down and brushing their noses together, "do you honestly think I didn't know the difference between a double espresso and a hot chocolate?"

Kurt's eyes widened. "Blaine!" he exclaimed, lightly smacking his shoulder. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Blaine leaned down and kissed Kurt's cheek. "Because I knew you were doing it to take care of me, and what I really needed was to just vent. You let me do that, and I love you for it."

Kurt smiled warmly, sliding his hands around Blaine's back and pulling him fully down on top of him. "We'll figure it out and make sure your grandmother's wishes are honored, you know," he offered quietly.

"Her wishes were honored the day I married you," Blaine replied. "She wanted me to be happy, and I am," he finished, kissing Kurt soundly.

"We're still going to stick it to your father, though," Kurt added as Blaine's lips began to travel across his jaw.

"Damn right," Blaine muttered lowly into Kurt's ear.

 _A/N: I knew I wanted the fakeout of Blaine downing espresso instead of shots of alcohol, but I wasn't sure of the "why" so I just started typing. This is what came out._


	5. Example

**Example**

 _A/N: I had a tough day and some trouble with this one. Sorry it's so short._

"I hate all men," Kurt huffed, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that will put a crimp in your dating life," Blaine snickered. "And as a man, ow."

"Sorry," Kurt apologized. "Present company excluded." He plopped himself down on the couch next to his roommate, letting his head drop back and sighing.

"So, I take it your date with Kevin was…" Blaine trailed off.

"Abysmal," Kurt finished dejectedly.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Blaine offered sincerely, patting Kurt on the shoulder.

Blaine and Kurt had been roommates for two years, starting with their freshman year of college. They'd instantly bonded over music, theater, fashion, and growing up in Ohio. They were soon inseparable. There was only one problem.

Blaine was hopelessly in love with Kurt, and Kurt seemed determined to date every man in New York _except_ Blaine. Resigned to his fate, Blaine tried his best to be a good friend and roommate to Kurt, hoping that eventually, he'd get past his feelings. Their friendship was too important to him to walk away.

"Well, maybe you need to think more about what you're looking for and focus more on that, instead of playing the numbers game," Blaine said gently. It was a little harsh, but he knew Kurt would appreciate the honesty. "What kind of guy are you trying to find?"

Kurt sat up and turned to face Blaine. "I don't know," he began sullenly. "I just want someone…someone _right_ , you know?"

"That narrows it down," Blaine quipped.

Kurt playfully slapped Blaine on the shoulder. "Shut up, you know what I mean," he pouted. When Blaine looked at him expectantly, Kurt continued. "Okay, fine. Well…take you, for example."

"Um, m-me?" Blaine replied, cursing himself for the stammer.

"Yes, take you. You're smart, funny, kind, charming, gorgeous," Kurt rattled off, his voice and eyes softening, "a great listener, talented, compassionate, fun…you're living proof that good guys _do_ exist. Why can't I find one like you?" Kurt's voice broke just a little at the end of his speech.

Blaine turned on the couch then, as well, staring at Kurt with his mouth slightly agape. He tried to keep his heart from pounding, sure that Kurt would hear it if he didn't get it under control. It couldn't be, could it? "Kurt, do you – did you mean all of that?"

Kurt bit his lip pensively. "Blaine, I…" he paused and swallowed hard, looking down.

With a surge of impulsive courage, Blaine reached forward and took Kurt's hand in his own. "Maybe," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but sounding so loud in the sudden stillness of the room, "maybe you should do what you said, then."

Kurt looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"If you're looking for the man who is right for you, Kurt, take _me_."

"Blaine, do you mean…do you…" Kurt Hummel, the most eloquent person Blaine knew, was at a loss for words.

"Yes, Kurt," he answered the unfinished question, encouraged by the fact that Kurt had reached forward and taken his other hand, as well. "For so, so long now."

Kurt gave a little laugh as a tear rolled down his cheek. "Me, too," he murmured, launching himself forward and into Blaine's arms.

There would be time for talking later. Time to confess how long they'd been foolish and time to laugh and cry over the million times they'd each almost broken down and said something. But for now, there were other things to be done (such as kissing, _for example_ ).


	6. Fraction

**Fraction**

 _A/N: Fluff alert._

"Has anyone ever literally died on stage?"

"Are you nervous?"

"Please don't judge me."

"I feel like we've had this conversation before."

Blaine laughed aloud at that. "You're right," he conceded. "It was just easier when I was on the other side of it, you know?"

Kurt stood from the chair he'd been occupying in the corner of the small dressing room and crossed to stand behind his husband. With deft fingers, he rearranged a few errant curls to achieve the perfect tousled look. Smiling at Blaine through the dressing table mirror, he laid his hands upon his shoulders. "You're going to be amazing out there tonight. This is an audience of people who love you and who are eager to hear you and to adore you. There's no need to worry."

"That's just it, though," Blaine answered, turning on the vanity stool to look up into Kurt's face. "They've been waiting so long, building this up so much…what if I can't live up to the hype?" he asked meekly.

Kurt took him by the hands and pulled him up to stand. "Here, take your hand and put it over your heart," he directed with a wink.

"Like the song?" Blaine said on cue.

"Like the song," Kurt parroted back.

"Pulling out all the stops tonight, aren't you?" Blaine joked.

"Shut up, I'm being romantic," Kurt chided playfully. "Look," he continued more sincerely, covering Blaine's hand with his own where it rested against his chest, "you know, and I _know_ that you know, that you were born for this. It's natural to be nervous when you're about to realize a lifelong dream, but that is just because you care. I believe in you, Blaine. I wish you could feel one fraction of the amount of faith I have in you, or just a tiny bit of how proud I am of you."

"Kurt," Blaine murmured, his voice cracking.

"No, no," Kurt interrupted, a catch in his own voice, as well. "We just got you all fixed up. No crying now."

Blaine huffed out a laugh and dropped his head forward in a familiar gesture. When he looked back up, a smile graced his lips. "Well, then, maybe you should stop trying to make me cry." He leaned forward and kissed Kurt lightly.

"Fair enough," Kurt agreed when they parted. He stepped back, placing a gentle kiss on the back of Blaine's hand before releasing it. Turning around, he picked up Blaine's guitar and handed it to him. "Go get 'em, Mister."

Blaine took the guitar, slipped the strap over his head, and adjusted it quickly. With a deep breath and one more smile, he walked out of the dressing room with Kurt close behind.

Kurt took up his position in the wings where he could see but not necessarily be seen. This was Blaine's night – his first solo concert promoting his first solo album – and Kurt wasn't about to upstage him by having the focus shift to him due to his recent Broadway success.

Blaine stepped onto the stage, his fans going wild with applause and cheers. The touch of the spotlight seemed to ignite the spark in him. He waved and greeted the crowd, catching their enthusiasm instantly. All the nerves were gone; or, at the very least, they were now being channeled into his performance when he played the opening chords of the first song.

Kurt couldn't help but whisper to himself, "Oh, there you are."


	7. Genuine

**Genuine**

 _A/N: So after yesterday's fluff-fest, I thought to myself, okay. Try to go easy. Don't be so sappy. Yeah, that didn't work out so well. Apologies in advance if this is a bit sentimental for your taste._

It was a simple thing, really. Most people wouldn't have even noticed it. But Burt Hummel wasn't most people.

Burt was a guy's guy, with his flannel shirts and baseball caps, running a tire shop and bleeding scarlet and gray for The Ohio State Buckeyes. He was all of those things, but he was also a dedicated, loving father. Things hadn't always been easy for him and Kurt. Their personalities were so dissimilar that Burt would have questioned whether they'd brought the right baby home from the hospital if the boy hadn't been the absolute image of his mother.

Despite their differences, they shared the unenviable bond of loss, and that alone may have been the thread that stayed true even when all the others threatened to unravel. Kurt was now a teenage boy, headstrong and bold, trying to assert his independence while holding on with one hand to the safety net of his father's love and approval. Burt was willing to let him fly as high as he wanted to, but he fully intended to keep an eye on him at the same time, just in case he should fall.

In any event, Burt was an observant man who knew his son inside and out (whether Kurt was willing to admit it or not). He knew his boy's moods and flaws, his passions and habits, his fears and expectations. It was a point of pride for him to do his best to let Kurt know he was there and that he was fully and irrevocably interested in his life.

Yes, Burt Hummel knew his son.

What he didn't know, or, rather, what he had nearly forgotten, was the sound he'd just heard from the kitchen. Blaine had come over after school, and the two of them were currently working together to make dinner. There'd been a fair amount of chatter, most of which was too low for Burt to hear, as well as a little singing, but then came that sound.

Laughter. Pure, genuine, joy-filled laughter was ringing through the house…and it was coming from Kurt.

Burt let his newspaper fall to his lap as he turned his head towards the sound. From his vantage point, he could see into the kitchen through the open door. There was his son, hands flat on the counter as he bent forward, laughing aloud at whatever Blaine had just said to him. Blaine was joining in, too, wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye and moving so that his shoulder was leaning against Kurt's, as if needing the support to remain standing.

Burt smiled softly, and then frowned as he realized he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd heard Kurt laugh like that – free and open and happy. If he couldn't remember, it had clearly been far too long.

He looked over at Blaine, as well – young Mr. Anderson, the proper prep-school boy with the impeccable manners, always pristine from his gelled hair to his spotless loafers. Burt had come to know and love this boy, as well, gladly welcoming him into his home in a way he had a feeling he wasn't welcomed in his own. Blaine was almost always the picture of cheerfulness and optimism, but Burt couldn't help but think it all seemed a little forced. There was nothing forced about his cheerfulness in that moment, however. With his relaxed posture (wait, where were his hands…oh, there. Okay.), broad smile, crinkled eyes and booming laugh, gone were the traces of the staid Dalton boy.

Kurt turned to Blaine, smiling so widely that he even showed some teeth, which was practically a unicorn sighting these days. He leaned in to give his boyfriend a quick, chaste peck on the cheek, causing the shorter boy to blush. They settled down and returned to their cooking tasks, but stayed just close enough for their arms to brush.

Burt looked away, then, beginning to feel like he was intruding. He picked his paper up again, returning to the sports page. Yes, Burt Hummel knew his son, and wanted what was best for him. As it turned out, Kurt had been able to figure out how to find that for himself.

 _A/N: Burt's POV? No dialogue? Who wrote this?_


	8. Health

**Health**

 _A/N: So one of the drawbacks to writing for a prompt late at night is that so many other amazing submissions have already been posted, and odds are, someone has written something close to what you're thinking. I know a few people have taken the "In sickness and in health" take on this prompt, but that shall not deter me from my own quirky approach. Enjoy!_

"Oh, my dear sweet lord," Kurt uttered, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

When he'd agreed to let Blaine take the reins on decorating the outside of the house this year, he never imagined this. True, the rivalry between him and the neighbors across the street had been simmering for the past couple of Christmases, but they'd always kept things modest. If Blaine occasionally flipped the bird to smug Mr. Perfect and his trophy wife after they'd gone inside, that was neither here nor there.

This year, Mr. Perfect had started early, setting up lights on the house and in the trees, and taking every opportunity to make snide comments to Blaine about how his display would be superior again. Even Kurt, who really couldn't care less about some suburban machismo-driven competition that ironically involved twinkle lights and gauche inflatable reindeer, was getting annoyed. Finally, around the middle of November, after a particularly annoying exchange, Kurt told Blaine to go for it.

Christmas came early for Blaine Anderson that year.

So here was Kurt, standing on his sidewalk the Saturday after Thanksgiving, gaping at his house. Well, he thought it was his house, anyway. It was kind of hard to tell.

Every window and door was framed with lights. Strings of lights patterned the slope of the roof, as well. The trees were adorned with illuminated snowflakes and ornaments that reflected the glow of the lights around them. It wasn't quite Clark Griswold crazy – his husband had class and taste, after all – but it definitely was more than Kurt had expected.

"So, what do you think?" Blaine asked, bouncing up on his toes in his boots, his breath coming out in clouds of vapor in the frigid night air.

The shock subsiding, Kurt stole a glance at his husband, whose eyes were as bright as the lights before them. It really didn't look that bad, honestly, and Blaine was clearly very proud of himself. Who was Kurt to put a damper on that?

Instead, he wrapped an arm around Blaine's waist and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "It looks lovely, Blaine," he praised, not entirely insincerely.

"Thanks, but you haven't seen the best part," Blaine replied, wiggling his eyebrows and slipping his phone out of his pocket.

Uh oh.

He tapped the screen a few times, then looked at Kurt. "Wait 'til Mr. Perfect sees _this_ ," he whispered, tapping a button on the screen one more time.

Instantly, music began playing from somewhere – apparently there were speakers in their yard now? Kurt recognized the strains of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's piece "Wizards of Winter" (one of Blaine's favorites) as the lights on the house took on a life of their own. They blinked and flickered and pulsated in time with the music in a complex and synchronized pattern.

"Blaine, where did you…when did you learn how…I mean…" Kurt was at a loss for words as he struggled between being overwhelmed, impressed, and a little bit scared.

"I called Rob and Doug down at the theater," he shrugged, referencing a lighting tech and IT guru who were friends of theirs. "Let's see bozo across the street beat that," he said proudly as the rapid-fire notes of the chorus blared and the bulbs flashed wildly in perfect time.

Kurt shook his head in amusement and disbelief. "You know, I don't think this is healthy. You've got issues," he deadpanned.

Blaine pulled Kurt a little tighter to him. "In sickness and in health, baby," Blaine retorted.

"I take it back," Kurt teased.

Blaine pouted, jutting out his lower lip. "I thought you might be a little hesitant," he said, releasing Kurt and turning to his phone again. "I had them add a little something else for you."

A few taps later, the lights went dark and the music stopped. After a brief pause, new music started – drums and horns at first, then building to a full orchestra. "Oh, you didn't," Kurt breathed. After all, he'd recognize the overture from "Wicked" anywhere. The lights began to glow, softly at first, intensifying with the music – and all a bright green.

Kurt couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. He truly did have the most ridiculous, crazy, adorable husband in the world. "That's not exactly Christmas music," he said, squeezing Blaine's hand when it slipped into his own and tipping his head to rest on Blaine's shoulder.

"It's got ruby slippers and a green witch – red and green, Kurt. That's Christmas-y," he argued.

They stood in silence as the music swelled and the lights danced. As if planned, a light flurry of snow began to fall. It was weird, and quirky, and just…perfect.

"Merry Christmas, my love," Blaine murmured.

"Merry Christmas, Blaine."


	9. Inch

**Inch**

 _A/N: You know how stuff seems funny to you when you're tired and by yourself? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what is going on here. Thankfully, it's super short._

"Oh, Blaine!"

"Come on, Kurt. Come on."

"Almost there, baby."

"Kurrrt…"

Blaine wasn't sure how much longer he could continue, but he was determined. It felt like they'd been at it for hours. His legs were beginning to quiver, and he was sure his stamina was about to give out completely. He could feel a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Perhaps if he shifted his position about an inch or so, he could find just the right spot…

"There! Right there! Yes!"

A few minutes later, Blaine flopped onto the couch beside Kurt, exhausted, but satisfied. Kurt reached over and brushed an errant curl off of his forehead. "Perfect," Kurt sighed.

"I'm glad you approve," Blaine answered with a low chuckle. Taking Kurt's hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. "But Kurt?"

"Yes, Blaine?" Kurt replied a little sleepily.

"Next year, you get on the ladder and put the star on the tree, and I'll give directions from the couch, okay?"

Kurt lazily shifted his gaze from the sparkling tree to his husband. He laughed and pulled Blaine to him, kissing him soundly. "Deal."

 _A/N: I doubt that I fooled anyone, since you all know how I write. I am putting myself in time out now._


	10. Judgment

**Judgment**

 _A/N: Back to my usual schmoop. Takes place at Dalton Academy in canon, a day or two after Kurt and Blaine's "Baby It's Cold Outside" duet._

Kurt sat on the plush cushion of the window seat looking out over the snow-covered expanse of lawn behind Dalton. It was a bright, beautiful December day, but he couldn't help the sigh that escaped him as he rested his chin on his knees which were drawn up to his chest.

"You know, I'm going to start taking it personally if you keep hiding out in here," Blaine's smooth voice called from the doorway.

Kurt raised his head and turned towards his visitor. "Well, I can't really be by myself if I go where all the Warblers are hanging out, now can I?" he rebutted.

"Oh, I'm sorry – I'll just…" Blaine stammered, turning to leave.

"Blaine! No, I didn't mean that. I was just teasing," Kurt explained.

Blaine nodded and strolled over to the window seat, leaning against the opposite corner. "So, what's got you down, huh?" he prompted, tilting his head to one side. At Kurt's look of surprise, he added, "I kind of heard you sighing when I came in. Anything I can do to help?" he offered sincerely.

"I don't know," he sighed again, looking back out the window. "I guess I'm just a little homesick or something," he admitted.

"Ah, I see. You'll be home for the holidays in a couple of weeks, so that should help," Blaine replied.

"I know, it's just…I've already checked, and most of my friends from the New Directions won't be around. They've got their own family things going on, or they're going out of town, or something like that. I won't get to see them at all," Kurt sulked.

"Aww, you miss them," Blaine said, his voice soft and gentle as he sat on the edge of the window seat and patted Kurt's knee.

"I know I had to leave. It was a judgment call that I probably should have made a lot sooner," Kurt reasoned, "but I wish there had been a way that I could have stayed with them, you know? Oh! Not that I don't like it here," he hurried, not wanting to hurt Blaine's feelings.

Blaine stopped him short, though. "I know, Kurt. I understand. You miss your friends, and that's totally natural. I bet they miss you, too. I know I'd miss you if you left here." That last sentence came out a bit more quietly than the rest, and Blaine quickly cleared his throat to shake off the awkwardness. Looking around the room, he continued, "Besides, being in this place probably doesn't help. It's beautiful, sure, but sort of spooky in a Hogwart's kind of way, if you ask me. I mean, I keep expecting the pictures to move whenever I pass them by."

"Great. That's not going to give me nightmares about the portrait outside of my dorm room at all," Kurt deadpanned. A moment passed, and then both boys broke out into laughter.

"Come on," Blaine said, tapping Kurt on the leg and standing up. "Go get your coat and meet me at my car in five. We'll get out of here for a little while. It'll cheer you up."

"I don't know, Blaine," Kurt hesitated.

"Pretty please?" Blaine pleaded, batting his eyelashes and giving Kurt his signature puppy dog eyes.

Kurt laughed again. "Okay, okay! Sheesh! You should register those things as weapons," he joked, passing Blaine and heading for his dorm to collect his jacket.

Blaine pulled out his phone and dialed a number that had been given to him the day Kurt moved to Dalton. "Hey, Finn. No, nothing's wrong with Kurt. Everything is fine. I do need a favor from you, however…"

xoxoxo

"The Lima Bean? You do know that there are coffee shops in Westerville, right? We didn't need to drive an hour and a half for a latte," Kurt chided, realizing that the Warbler had made the long drive for the sole purpose of making Kurt feel better.

"Eh, they have these amazing cookies, though. Can't get them anywhere else," Blaine argued lightly, a twinkle in his eye.

The two boys walked into the coffee shop together, reflexively breathing in the luscious smell. "How about I get our drinks and you go find us a place to sit," Blaine suggested, nodding towards the seating area of the café.

"Um, okay," Kurt responded curiously, watching as Blaine got in line. He shrugged, then turned around and walked toward the tables, scanning for two empty chairs. His gaze criss-crossed the room from one side to the other and back in vain. It was certainly crowded today. Maybe they'd have to take their orders to – wait a minute. Was that…?

"Hey there, baby," the sultry voice of Miss Mercedes Jones called out. "What'chu doin' over there?" She waved him over, and only then did Kurt see the tables that had been pushed together to accommodate what appeared to be the whole of the New Directions.

Kurt squealed as he rushed into Merecedes' waiting arms for a hug before he was passed around from one former teammate to another for similar greetings. "What are you guys all doing here?" he asked breathlessly.

"Blaine called Finn," Rachel chimed in. "He said you could use a little pick-me-up, and of course, we all said yes!" she cheered excitedly, hugging Kurt once more. Funny how she hugged Kurt a lot more now that he wasn't after her solos anymore.

"Come on, Kurt, sit by me," Mercedes instructed, and the whole group settled back into their chairs. Almost immediately, a cup was placed in front of Kurt. He looked up and saw Blaine standing off to the side.

"Hi, everyone," he greeted the group. "Kurt," he turned and bent down to speak quietly to him alone. "I'll just be over there. Whenever you're ready, I'll drive you back, okay? Take all the time you need – I'm in no hurry."

He straightened up and made to leave, but Kurt caught him by the arm. "Blaine, wait! Where are you going?"

"I brought you here to spend time with your friends, Kurt. I'm not going to intrude." Blaine said modestly.

Kurt stood up and walked over to the next table, politely asking if the occupant was going to use an empty chair before carrying it back. He put it directly next to his own. "If I am supposed to spend time with my friends," he declared, gesturing to the chair, "then you belong here."

Blaine looked around the table and everyone seemed to be nodding in agreement. Looking back at Kurt, he smiled broadly and took the offered chair with a simple, but heartfelt, "Thank you."

Later that afternoon, after lots of talking and laughter, and probably one too many lattes, it was a very cheered up Kurt Hummel who was driven back to Dalton Academy, realizing that he hadn't left _all_ of his friends back in Lima, after all.


	11. Key

**Key**

 _A/N: This story takes place in my "The Art and Science of Kissing, by Blaine Anderson" verse. Haven't read it? Here's the short version: badboy!Blaine is dating Kurt. Then…wait. Actually, that's really all you need to know for this. But if you'd like to read the whole story, I won't stop you._

"Hey, gorgeous," Blaine greeted Kurt with a sly grin.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Kurt asked in surprise, returning the greeting with a quick hug. "It's so late. I thought you went home."

"No worries," Blaine replied, slinging an arm around Kurt's waist and pulling him close as they walked down the quiet hallway of McKinley. "Detention just let out, so I wasn't waiting long."

Kurt stopped in his tracks, making Blaine stutter to a halt, too. "Blaine!" he admonished. "You promised!"

Blaine laughed and pulled Kurt towards him. "Only joking, beautiful," he said, kissing the tip of Kurt's nose and chuckling again at the eyeroll he receive in return. "I thought you could use a little levity after that cluster you call Glee Club. Man, that Berry chick is a nightmare."

They began walking again, and Kurt let out a sigh. "Oh, tell me about it. She's a talent, but she's just impossible some…wait a minute. How did you know about Rachel in Glee today?" Blaine's silent shrug answered Kurt's question. "Oh, honey, you didn't have to sit outside and wait for me."

"I wanted to. Besides, it seems like you could use a little _stress reliever_ after that," Blaine purred into his ear.

"Oh, my god," Kurt complained, trying to sound affronted but giggling a little too much to sell it. "Hey, where are you taking me?" he asked when Blaine guided him around a corner to another hallway that was decidedly _not_ the way out of the building. "Blaine, I will _not_ make out with you in this school. No. Not happening. I…"

"Easy, gorgeous, easy," Blaine soothed, lightly running his hand up and down Kurt's side. "I'm not about to defile you. Just trust me?"

Kurt side-eyed his relatively new boyfriend. Oddly enough, for reasons he wasn't sure he could properly defend, he did trust Blaine. Implicitly.

They stopped in front of a door that Kurt had never really noticed. Before he could inquire, Blaine kissed him softly on the cheek and released his waist. "Just give me a minute," he whispered, moving toward the door and reaching into a pocket on the inside of his leather jacket. He pulled out a small, leather case that unfolded in his hand. He removed a couple of thin metal instruments and tucked the case back into his pocket as he moved toward the door.

"Blaine," Kurt approached warily, "are those what I think they are?"

"Yep," he answered, popping the "p" for laughs.

"Where on earth did you get those? And how did you learn to use them?" Kurt asked, his eyes wide.

Blaine maneuvered the implements quickly, fidgeting with the door lock as he spoke. "Got them from a guy at Dalton," he explained, referencing the reform school where he'd spent some time the year before. "They called him Nick the Pick. Nice guy. You'd like him."

"Blaine, you can't," Kurt implored, laying a hand on Blaine's arm.

"Relax, sexy. It'll be fine. The only one who would be around to see is the janitor, and he and I are buddies." At Kurt's raised eyebrow, Blaine smirked. "It helps to know the help."

"You know, most people use a key to open a door," Kurt sarcastically commented.

"Keys are for the unimaginative and untalented."

"And the unincarcerated."

"That's not a word. Aha!" he exclaimed as the lock clicked and the handle gave way in his grip. "After you," he said with a sweeping bow.

The door led to a staircase. Kurt looked up the stairs and back at Blaine, who just raised his eyebrows expectantly. Kurt let out a breath and began to ascend, followed closely by the other boy. About halfway up, Kurt paused and looked back over his shoulder. "Enjoying the view?"

Blaine simply winked.

"Pervert," he muttered, shaking his head and continuing the climb. At the top of the stairs was another door, which he opened, presuming the other side to be their destination.

A cold rush of air greeted the two as they stepped out onto the roof of the school. Blaine took Kurt's hand and pulled him back to him. "Trust me," he repeated, squeezing Kurt's hand and looking for any signs of hesitation. Kurt nodded in response. Blaine smiled then – a slow, small smile that was free of any guile or snark. "Okay," he whispered, walking around behind Kurt. "Close your eyes for me, beautiful," he instructed, gently covering the boy's eyes with one hand and resting another at his waist. "Come on."

He walked Kurt carefully across the rooftop to one side, stopping at the waist-high wall at the edge. "Okay, open," Blaine said, removing his hand from Kurt's eyes.

Kurt blinked a few times, then caught his breath in awe.

They were facing west, and the sun was setting over Lima. It was one of those sunset that painted the sky with a myriad of colors, ranging from soft pink and orange to bright fuschias and purples that were practically neon in intensity. A smattering of clouds served as canvases for the most spectacular artwork nature could provide. It was stunning.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed as a pair of strong arms slid around his waist and a chin rested upon his shoulder from behind.

"I like to come up here when it all gets too much," Blaine mused, almost as if speaking to himself. "Too loud, too stressful, too close, too…everything." He paused, and Kurt could feel him smile. "Haven't needed for a while now," he said pointedly, pressing a kiss to Kurt's cheek, "but I thought you could use it tonight."

"It's beautiful, Blaine. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It's a fraction of the beauty you've shown me, Kurt."

Kurt wrapped his arms over Blaine's and leaned back into his embrace. They stood quietly, watching the colors fade as the sun made its all-too-quick descent. Soon enough, there was just a faint glow remaining.

"Come on, Kurt. We need to get back before it gets dark. There's no light up here." The two crossed the roof slowly, hand in hand. At the bottom of the stairs, Blaine closed the door, flipping the latch on the inside just before it shut to make sure it locked again.

"Hey Blaine?"

"Yeah, gorgeous?"

Kurt grinned at the return of the nickname. "Keep that key for next time?"

Blaine kissed him firmly, taking his time to caress Kurt's lips thoroughly before pulling away with a soft, wet sound. "Always," he promised.

 _A/N: Badboy or not, Blaine is still Blaine._


	12. Limited

**Limited**

 _A/N: Canon-compliant story set shortly after the end of the series, presuming Blaine and Kurt are living in NYC again and in college._

Blaine had wondered how long it would take for him to break. Finals. Christmas. Year-end madness at Vogue. Auditions. The book he decided to write in his "spare time."

Blaine knew Kurt, and his newly-wedded husband was stretching himself in too many different directions. It wasn't that Blaine didn't have a million things of his own going on, but he flattered himself that he was a little better at stress-management than Kurt was. The only thing that had ever really gotten to him was being apart, and that was no longer an issue.

It was a snowy Tuesday night when Blaine came home to the apartment and realized the time had arrived. There sat Kurt, wrapped in a blanket, curled up on the couch. The television remote was in one hand; his cell phone was in the other. A half-empty bag of Milano cookies lay on its side on the coffee table next to Kurt's oversized coffee mug. The only light in the apartment came from the twinkle lights on the Christmas tree and the flickering of the television screen.

"Kurt?" Blaine said warily, approaching his husband like a wounded animal.

Kurt responded with a shushing noise. "I want to hear this," he whisper-shouted, turning up the TV. Blaine turned his attention to the screen, where an overly-made-up woman was extolling the virtues of some type of steam carpet cleaning device. "It has extra attachments for stairs," Kurt said, sounding slightly awestruck.

Blaine shook his head and smirked. He gingerly took a seat next to his blanket-burrito love and wrapped an arm around his shoulders – or, at least, where he thought his shoulders were. "Kurt? Honey? We don't have stairs." No response. "Or _carpeting_."

After a moment, Kurt let out a heavy sigh. "I know."

"Aww, honey," Blaine soothed, pulling Kurt close and embracing him fully. He pressed a kiss to the top of Kurt's head and felt his body relax into him. "You want to talk about it?" he prompted.

"Not really. Nothing in particular happened. I think it all just kind of caught up to me, you know?" he admitted, snuggling closer when Blaine ran his hand up and down his arm.

"I know, I know. It'll all be okay," he soothed.

They sat quietly for a while, decompressing and recharging. Finally, Blaine shifted to stand, in spite of Kurt's whine of protest. Blaine took Kurt's phone and the remote, which had slipped from his hands onto the floor. He clicked the remote to turn off the TV and placed both items on the coffee table.

"Well, shopper," he said in a low, sultry voice, "have I got a deal for you today. It's a special offer that can only be found in our bedroom. Snuggles, cuddles, and a personalized backrub await you if you take advantage of this limited-time offer. Don't delay," he finished, holding out his hands for Kurt to take.

Laughing for the first time in days, Kurt gratefully took the hands offered to him and rose, not minding at all when his blanket tripped him and he landed in Blaine's arms. A short kiss later, he was upright and walking with Blaine across the apartment. "Snuggles, cuddles, and a personalized backrub? Who could say no to that?" Kurt asked cheekily.

As they reached the bed, Blaine took him by the waist, spinning Kurt into his body and holding him tightly. His lips brushed across Kurt's cheek and came to rest near his ear. "But wait…there's more," he murmured seductively.

 _A/N: Fade to black, and I'll let you fill in the rest. Fun fact: I turned on home shopping for an idea of what Kurt could be watching. Yes, they were selling a carpet cleaning machine, and yes, I found myself going, "wow, that's actually really cool…no! Turn it off!"_


	13. Mist

Mist

 _A/N: When I first thought of my story for this prompt, I realized my Kurt and Blaine were more Chris-ish and Darren-esque. I had to dial it back for two reasons: one, this is a Klaine challenge, not a CrissColfer challenge, and two, I don't write CrissColfer fics! That said, kindly pardon any residual CC character bleed-through…_

Blaine barely made it through the door, stomping the last bit of snow from his boots and loosening his scarf, when Kurt rushed up to him.

"Which is better, mist or fog?" Kurt asked desperately.

Blaine blinked owlishly while his brain caught up with the odd greeting. "First of all, hello," he said charmingly, kissing his husband on the cheek. "Second, what?"

"Mist or fog, Blaine. _Mist or fog_?" Kurt implored as Blaine shed his boots, coat, hat and scarf, placing each item in its rightful place. He had a fair idea what this was about, and the best first response was one of calm.

Kurt had decided to add a playwriting elective to his final semester at NYADA. He told Blaine about Burt's pep talk years earlier, encouraging him to write his own part if he couldn't find one on Broadway. That advice had stayed with him, and when the new course was offered, he felt like it was a sign for him to enroll.

Blaine wholeheartedly agreed. Kurt was a man of diverse talents, after all, from singing and acting to fashion design. Why not add writing, as well?

The final project, which had been announced the first day of class to allow the students ample time to prepare, was to write a one-act play. The top two works from the class would be submitted to a local community theater group, who would have the option of performing it if they so chose. It was an enviable prize, to be sure. "Community theater or not, Blaine, it's still _New York theater_ ," Kurt had insisted, only half-jokingly.

Now, with less than a week before the final product was due, Kurt had developed a crippling case of writer's block. The play was nearly complete – just a few touches were needed to weave some of the scenes together – but Kurt was in panic mode and was questioning every decision.

"Okay, okay," Blaine said, soothing but not patronizing. "Give me a little context, and explain to me why I have to choose between mist and fog."

Kurt launched into a hurried explanation of a dream sequence in which the main character figured out that his feelings for his best friend were actually true love. Somewhere in the middle (Blaine sort of lost track as Kurt's rapid speech jumbled some words into indecipherable sounds), they wound up in a park at dawn, which brought Kurt to his current dilemma.

Blaine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew, and he knew that Kurt knew, that the dream sequence concept had been scrapped weeks earlier. Kurt dismissed it as "pandering and ridiculous." Things must have gotten bad if it was back. However, the worst thing Blaine could do was to point that out at the moment, considering that his beloved looked to be on the very edge.

Taking his hand, Blaine wordlessly led Kurt across the apartment to the living room. He clicked a button on the sound system and picked a slow ballad. With a practiced movement, he wrapped his arms around Kurt and said, "Dance with me," swaying gently.

"Blaine!" Kurt argued, standing still. "I don't have time to dance! I have to figure this…"

Blaine shushed him and tightened his embrace. "I know. I'm helping," he countered.

"I don't see how," Kurt complained, his body falling into rhythm with Blaine despite his protestations.

"It's a simple, time-tested process, actually," Blaine explained, deftly turning Kurt a quarter turn in time with the music. "When your brain is stuck, you distract it by changing up your physicality. You get up, move, dance, run. Do the dishes, wash the floor – anything to engage your body. It frees up your mind."

Kurt looked incredulous. "You're making this up."

"I'm not," Blaine defended. "It's science."

"Is this why I find you twerking in the kitchen when you're supposed to be writing a song or a term paper? For _science_?"

"Works every time. And I do not twerk," he added. Before Kurt could contradict him, Blaine turned him again and dipped him slowly. "Now be quiet and just dance with me," he whispered, giving Kurt's lips a lingering kiss before bringing him upright. He tucked his face into Kurt's neck and paused his movement, allowing him to take over the lead.

One song blended into another, which flowed into three more. After about twenty minutes or so, Blaine asked softly, "So, is it working?"

"Hmm?" Kurt replied distractedly.

"The dancing. Is it working?" Blaine repeated. "Do we know if it's fog or mist yet?"

"Oh, absolutely. I figured out the entire thing two songs ago. It's neither, by the way," Kurt murmured, placing a few feather-light kisses to Blaine's cheek. "I mean, who does a dream sequence? That's so passé."

Blaine chuckled. "And so we're continuing to dance because?"

Kurt shrugged and pulled him a little closer. "Let's say it's for science."

 _A/N: Of course, I read and write fanfiction for science, too._


	14. Nose

**Nose**

 _A/N: Another idea that wouldn't go away._

"You and Santana would have beautiful babies."

Blaine furrowed his brow, his hand still on the doorknob of their apartment. He craned his head around, checking the apartment number on the door. No, he hadn't walked into the wrong place.

Stepping inside and closing the door behind him, he crossed to the dining table where Kurt sat staring at his phone. "Hi, there." He bent down and kissed his husband on the top of the head.

"Hi," Kurt responded absently.

Blaine took a seat at the table. "So, do you want to repeat that for me one more time, because it sounded like you were talking about me and Santana having a baby, which I think would be difficult since we're both, you know, gay and all," he said with a smirk.

Kurt sighed quietly. "There's this app that lets you put in pictures of a couple and it tells you what their baby is going to look like," Kurt explained. "You and Santana seemed to come out the best." He turned the phone screen towards Blaine to show him the picture.

It was a little odd-looking, as computer-generated photos often are, but the baby in the picture _was_ rather striking. Apparently, the mixture of their dark features and olive complexions were, according to the app, likely to produce a very pretty baby with wavy black hair, big brown eyes, and high cheekbones. Wait, what baby had high cheekbones?

"Wait," Blaine blurted out. "What do you mean, Santana and I came out the _best_?"

Kurt sheepishly took the phone and began swiping through several other composite images. "Here's you and Rachel, you and Quinn, you and Brittany, and you and Mercedes."

"What about Tina?" Blaine asked, a glint in his eye.

Kurt blew out a breath. "As if," he huffed.

"Kurt, what brought this on?" Blaine reached a hand out and took the phone from Kurt, placing it face down on the table, before twining his fingers with Kurt's. They'd only just gotten married, and though they'd discussed the matter and agreed that they both eventually wanted children, they were nowhere near that point in their lives right now.

Kurt sighed again. "I know it's silly, but one of the girls at work is expecting, and she was talking all about this app with a couple of other girls. They were going on and on about how the baby would have her eyes, and his chin, and her…whatever. You get the picture," Kurt said sadly.

"Okay," Blaine said slowly, prompting Kurt to continue.

"I guess I just got a little sad because, you know, we can't do that. There's never going to be a baby that is part you and part me." Kurt's voice broke at the end of the sentence.

"Aww, honey, come here," Blaine cooed, drawing Kurt up by his hand and gathering him into his arms. He held him tightly for a moment, then pulled away, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. As soon as they were seated, he pulled Kurt to him again. "Now you listen to me, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel-Anderson. When we decide to have a baby – which we aren't doing yet, right?" he paused. Kurt shook his head and Blaine continued. "When we decide, it doesn't matter if the baby is biologically mine or yours or someone else's altogether. We are going to love that child, and raise him or her in our own way. He'll learn to be stubborn from you," Blaine squeezed Kurt teasingly. "She'll learn to jump on furniture while singing from me. Above all, any and every child we have will learn to be loving and kind and fearless and determined from both of us. If that doesn't make a baby part you and part me, I don't know what does."

Kurt burrowed into Blaine's embrace, sniffling softly. "I hope he or she learns how to always say the right thing from you, too," he murmured.

Blaine chuckled. "I can give you about a hundred examples of times that I didn't do that, but I am not going to go there." They lapsed into a comfortable silence after that.

The next day, over breakfast, Blaine couldn't help himself. "Did you try running us through that baby app?"

"What?"

"Just for fun. Just to see. Come on, give it a shot," he urged.

With an eyeroll, Kurt picked up his phone and tapped at the screen, loading in pictures that were already in his photo gallery. Blaine scooted his chair over so that he could see the screen. "Here goes," Kurt announced, tapping the last button to generate the picture.

"Oh, my dear sweet lord."

"What the hell?"

"That can't be right," Blaine argued, taking the phone and shaking it.

Kurt snatched it back. "It's not an Etch-A-Sketch, Blaine."

They crowded together over the phone, examining the results – the very bizarre, unflattering results.

"That has got to be the ugliest baby I've ever seen," Kurt declared. "I mean, whose _nose_ is that?"

"It has to be a flaw in the app," Blaine theorized. "Maybe it's programmed to only blend together a male and a female. Photos of two men must have thrown it off-kilter."

"Swell, I have a homophobic baby picture generator app on my phone."

Blaine broke first, snorting despite his attempt to hold in his laughter. Soon, the two were practically doubled over the table, wiping tears from their eyes.

They deleted the app right then and there. A few years later, when Kurt held their child for the first time, he looked up at his husband and whispered, "She's got your nose."

 _A/N: Yep, I went from sappy to ridiculous back to sappy._


	15. Orgy

Orgy

 _A/N: I almost skipped this prompt, but I've gone this far, and didn't want to break the streak. This is set in the "A Place to Stay" verse, just before the epilogue. Blaine and Kurt are together, and Sebastian is coming to visit. (Get your mind out of the gutter.) I won't say why he's coming to New York, in case you haven't read the story – this will make sense without it._

"Hey, Bas, so you'll be in tomorrow? Great! Do you need a ride from the airport?" Blaine put the call on speaker as he opened the door to the apartment to let Kurt in. He gave a quick kiss to his boyfriend as Sebastian explained that he had a car already ordered.

"Sounds good. Listen, Kurt's here," he said, holding the phone closer to Kurt.

"Hi, Sebastian," Kurt greeted cheerfully.

"Princess, always a pleasure." Kurt stuck his tongue out, despite the fact that Sebastian couldn't see him.

"Looks like we're all set. You'll come here and you two can get right to work. Oh, and I'll have the guest room made up for you, too," he offered. Blaine held back a yelp when Kurt grabbed him sharply by the arm. He turned and found Kurt making a slashing gesture across his throat with his free hand.

"Um, Bas, can you hold on a minute?"

"Actually, Blainers, I was just going to…" Sebastian began, but Blaine cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah, just hang on," he insisted, clicking a button to put the call on hold and placing the phone on the counter. "Kurt, what is going on?" he cried, prying the other man's fingers from his arm with a wince.

Kurt rubbed his arm apologetically. "You aren't actually going to have him stay _here_ , are you?"

"That was the plan. He always stays with me when he's in town. He stayed here with both of us a couple of months ago when he was here for that show."

Kurt bit his lower lip fretfully. "That was for _one night_ , Blaine. This will be a whole week with both of us here. I just don't know."

"What are you worried about?" Blaine asked, confused.

Kurt paused, trying to choose his words carefully, but giving up and just blurting out what was on his mind. "He's just so _out there_ , Blaine. He travels all over the world, he's mingling with all these amazing people, he's probably out to clubs every night and – geez, who knows? I mean, I don't want to come in one night and stumble into an orgy or something."

Blaine's eyes went wide and then he burst out laughing. "Kurt! Oh my god, no," he teased, hugging him tightly. "Bas isn't like that at all, I promise."

"Well, I do travel and mingle with amazing people."

Both men froze and slowly turned their heads towards the counter where the phone lay.

"That's right, Killer, you forgot to put the phone on hold," Sebastian chided playfully.

Kurt paled then blushed fiercely, trying to remember every word he'd said. "Oh, Sebastian, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…" he apologized. He was horrified to think that he'd offended Blaine's closest friend, not to mention that he and Sebastian had become good friends in their own way.

"No worries, Princess. Just relax. Have some tea or something. Anyway, what I was going to say before being so abruptly _not_ put on hold, was that I already booked a separate room at The Dalton."

"Bas, you don't have to do that," Blaine argued.

"Oh, but I do," Sebastian countered. "Remember last time I stayed with you two? In the guest room right next to yours?"

"Yeah," Blaine answered slowly.

"Well, let's just say the floor may be soundproofed so the neighbors downstairs don't hear, but the walls between the rooms aren't." The amusement in Sebastian's voice was evident. "There are some things I don't need to know about you two."

"Oh, dear god," Kurt murmured as Blaine covered his eyes with his hand. "I'll make sure you get a nice suite," Blaine said weakly.

Sebastian just laughed. "Sounds like a deal, Killer. Oh, and Princess?" He paused, waiting for Kurt to acknowledge the nickname. Kurt made him wait for a full count of ten before answering.

"Yes, Sebastian?"

"You didn't have to worry anyway. It's not orgy season for, like, another two months."


	16. Perform

**Perform**

 _A/N: *tap tap tap* Is this thing on? I'm hoping y'all are just busy wrangling up some pre-Christmas cheer, as there seem to be fewer and fewer readers as we go. But you know what? I will take this time to say a MASSIVE thank you to those of you who are still here. I am so grateful that you are reading, and I truly hope you are enjoying these little fics. Onward!_

Kurt closed the door behind him and leaned against it heavily, as if afraid the day might try to follow him inside. It wasn't that anything particularly bad had happened, or that this day was any more stressful than the others which preceded it. Sometimes, the weight of real life fell a little heavier than others. Today happened to be one of those days.

He slowly peeled off his outerwear, placing each item in its proper place more out of habit than any real care for where things landed, and plodded to the bedroom in his stocking feet. He smiled at the sound of water turning off in the ensuite bathroom while he shuffled from the dresser to the closet and back, gathering a few very particular items.

Moments later, the door opened and a bit of steam escaped, along with his husband. "Hey, you," Blaine greeted him with a slow smile.

"Hey yourself," Kurt returned, leaning in for a brief kiss. "Give me ten minutes?" he asked, and Blaine nodded in understanding.

If he spent a little longer than ten minutes, he wasn't going to feel guilty about it. Blaine would expect nothing less, after all.

He finally appeared in the living room, dressed in a soft pair of yoga pants, Blaine's old Dalton sweatshirt, and socks. Blaine was already on the couch, patting the cushion next to him. He was similarly clad in sweatpants, a NYADA t-shirt that had seen better days, and a thick cardigan sweater. Kurt took his place, settling both onto the couch and into his husband's warm embrace. His nose nestled into its favorite spot on Blaine's neck, where he smelled like Kurt's soap today and that scent that was his own.

"Bad day?" Blaine murmured, dropping a kiss on Kurt's soft, product-free hair.

"Not particularly. This is the best part, though," he added, humming contentedly. He pulled back and looked up at Blaine, receiving a kiss before he could even ask for it. His fingers carded through Blaine's towel-dried curls and came to rest at the nape of his neck.

"It's my favorite part, too," Blaine agreed. Kurt could feel the tension leave Blaine's body as he relaxed.

This was the one place where they could be themselves, after all. Kurt didn't need the armor of his fashion. Blaine didn't need the disguise of his hair gel. In here, away from everyone else, there was no need to act a certain way or put on any type of costume. There was no audience to perform for; no show to put on. Here, they were just Kurt and Blaine – or KurtandBlaine, as their friends often called them – and it was wonderful.

"We should get up and make dinner," Blaine mused, running a lazy hand up and down Kurt's arm.

"Five more minutes?" Kurt answered after a pause.

"Give me ten," Blaine countered, shuffling them both until they were lying face-to-face along the length of the couch and wrapping an arm firmly around Kurt's back to hold him in place.

If they spent longer than ten minutes, they weren't going to feel guilty about it.

 _A/N: Who would have thought I'd have trouble with a fic for the prompt "perform" with these two? Hope you like this little bit of domesticity and introspection. If you are so inclined, let me know what you thought. (P.S.: if this is a little melancholy, blame Darren. I can't get "Going Nowhere" out of my head.)_


	17. Raw

**Raw**

 _A/N: AU first meeting._

Sometimes Kurt hated this city.

That was saying quite a bit for a man who had spent the better part of his youth doing everything in his power to get here. Most of the time, things were great. He'd been in New York for five years now. He had graduated with honors from NYADA. He found a fantastic apartment in Chelsea that was leaps and bounds better than the hole of a loft that he and Rachel had shared in Bushwick. He had landed a final callback for a musical – an actual, Broadway musical! – and if the casting director was to be believed, he was pretty much a shoe-in for the role.

Then there was the dating. Ugh. The dating.

Kurt had had a couple of boyfriends through college, but no one who really stuck or with whom he could actually see a long-term future. His last breakup had been seven months ago, and the only thing that had gotten him back into the dating pool was the fact that Rachel and Santana had threatened to put him on a dating app and start sending guys to his door. He thought Rachel might be kidding – he _knew_ Santana wasn't.

The only method of self-preservation was to begin dating again. He had even, unbeknownst to either Rachel or Santana, signed up with an online dating service anyway – but a classy one, not the trashy type of site he was sure Tana would have picked.

Unfortunately, it appeared that every decent gay man in the city was already taken. That was the only explanation for the string of weirdos, lunatics, and all-around jerks with whom he had come into contact in the past few weeks.

The most recent of the bunch was Owen. Owen, with his fake posh New England accent (which reminded Kurt mostly of a bad impression of Katharine Hepburn) and his ridiculously expensive hipster glasses. Kurt knew they were ridiculously expensive because Owen had told him. Maybe it was the hat. Or the four (Kurt counted) woven leather bracelets – on each wrist – that he got from some flea market vendor who swore they were unique Himalayan designs. Or maybe…

"Kurt," Rachel interrupted. "Okay, okay. I get it. He wasn't your type." They were at their usual first date postmortem at the diner, and Rachel could tell this was another story that wasn't going to end well.

"Not my type?" Kurt ranted. "Rach, he went on for twenty minutes about how the raw diet is the only way to live."

"So? I'm a vegetarian," Rachel countered.

"Right. A vegetarian who _cooks_ her food. He's on a raw diet. _Raw_. He doesn't heat anything. Ever. Says it 'removes all of the nutrients'. I ordered a coffee and a scone and he looked at me like I'd committed murder."

A snicker from behind Rachel drew Kurt's attention. Rachel turned and Kurt leaned over to see around her.

"I'm so sorry," the man at the next table said, covering his smile with his hand. "That was rude. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help but overhear. You're right, though. Finding a decent man to date is really harder than it should be."

He was quite possibly the best-looking man Kurt had seen since moving to New York, and based on his comment, was both gay and single. He was dressed simply in a deep red sweater and a pair of jeans, topped off by a deep brown suede jacket that accentuated the honey tone of his eyes.

Kurt stared, and Rachel glanced back and forth between the two men, noting that neither of them seemed to be aware of her presence anymore. Hmm.

"Well," she exclaimed, quickly gathering her belongings, "I just remembered a very important appointment uptown that I really must be off to. Kurt, I'll talk to you later. Bye!"

She rushed out the door, Kurt trying to call after her to no avail. Just then, the waitress came by Kurt's table. "Can I take your order?" she asked, moderately polite but clearly disinterested.

Kurt, caught a bit off-guard by Rachel's unceremonious exit, blinked in confusion before responding. "What? Oh, um, no. I, uh, my friend had to leave and I…" he trailed off. After another failed attempt at a date, eating a meal by himself was tops on his to-don't list for the day. The server rolled her eyes and was about to walk away when the man at the next table spoke up again.

"If you want, you could sit with me. I haven't ordered yet."

Kurt took in the man's guileless smile and open demeanor. "It would free up a table," Kurt replied, a small flame of hope beginning to flicker inside him.

"Exactly!" the other man said. "It's the reasonable thing to do."

Kurt stood and walked over to the next table. Before he could get there, his soon-to-be lunch companion was on his feet, pulling out the chair rather gallantly. "I'm Blaine," he said, holding out his hand. Kurt took it and held it more than shook it. "Hello, Blaine. I'm Kurt."

They sat down, Kurt inordinately pleased that Blaine had pulled out the chair to his side instead of the one across from him. The bored-looking waitress tapped her pencil against her pad impatiently. "What can I get you?"

Blaine looked at Kurt and grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Burger. Well done."

Maybe the city wasn't so bad after all.

 _A/N: First off, I'm not throwing any shade at folks who follow a raw diet. I based Owen on a guy I met once who was very sanctimonious about it, which I couldn't stand. To each his own, you know? Anyway, a super warm thank you to those of you who sent me lovely reviews and comments since yesterday. I'm happy to still be here with you. Just one week left to go!_


	18. Stir

Stir

 _A/N: This was SO not one of the definitions given for "Stir" but the idea made me laugh, and I needed to laugh today._

"So, this your first time in stir?"

Kurt slowly turned his head to look at the man sitting next to him. "What?"

The man shifted to turn towards Kurt slightly. "You know, stir. The joint. The Rock. The big house," he rattled off. "Attica! Attica!" he shouted, raising his fist in the air.

"Quiet, you two!" a gruff voice called from the next room.

"Yes, warden," the man hollered back. "I'm Blaine by the way," he continued smoothly, offering his hand.

Kurt looked down at it and back up to the man's face. When Blaine winked, Kurt rolled his eyes, but took the proffered hand anyway.

"Kurt," he sighed.

"So, _Kurt_ ," Blaine said, pausing for effect, "you never answered my question. You ever been on the inside before?"

"No, it's my first time. How about you?" he inquired flatly.

Blaine took a moment to stretch exaggeratedly, reaching his arms up and out and then allowing the one closest to Kurt to fall around his shoulder. "Ha! Hardly. Last time I was in, it was for knocking over a liquor store."

" _Really,_ " Kurt replied incredulously.

"Yep. Got thirty for it."

"Clearly, you got out early for good behavior," Kurt chuckled.

Blaine smiled broadly and leaned closer. "What can I say? I'm a charmer."

They were interrupted by the warden. "Okay, okay. Clearly this isn't working."

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe it's because we're grown men and you're treating us like children?" he sassed.

"Well, maybe if I didn't have two grown men start a flour war in my kitchen while making Christmas cookies, I wouldn't have to sit them on the couch for a time out," Burt countered, staring his son down for the millionth time in his life.

The pair had the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed. "Sorry," they said simultaneously.

"You ready to behave now?" he asked in his best dad voice.

"Yes, sir," they responded in tandem again. Burt ignored the sniggering between them.

"Fine. You're officially on parole. Now, get in that kitchen," he pointed, "and clean up your mess."

"Freedom!" Blaine cried, jumping up and rushing Burt for a hug, which the older man accepted with a laugh.

Kurt rose more slowly, smiling and shaking his head fondly at his father and his husband. "Come on, Lefty. We have a kitchen to clean." Kurt took his hand and led him across the living room. "So, you got thirty for knocking over a liquor store?"

"Technically, it was a toy store – and it was a bum rap. My mom had this little ceramic Christmas village, and Cooper knocked over the toy store. Broke it into a million pieces. He blamed me, and I had to sit on the stairs for half an hour," he explained.

"Who knew I married such a bad boy?" Kurt teased, smacking him lightly on the behind as they returned to the scene of the crime.

 _A/N: Hee hee. Thank you again for your lovely comments today. I never intended to guilt anyone into reviewing with my note a couple of chapters ago, just to be clear. I know it's a crazy-busy time of year. My thanks to you all. Happy reading!_


	19. Talk

Talk

 _A/N: Ok, so it's nearly 11pm where I am and I have NO idea what to write for this prompt because my brain is kind of fried. I haven't a clue what is about to happen, but I guarantee this is not going to be Shakespeare (but at least it isn't Shakespeare – that's for all you Chris Colfer fans out there)._

Kurt stormed down the hallway of Dalton with purpose. He had to find him. This would not wait.

Sure enough, Blaine was just coming out of the cafeteria, laughing with Wes and David. _Just look at him,_ Kurt thought. _All laughing and smiling while ruining my life._

Kurt approached the group and addressed Blaine directly, ignoring the other two boys. "Can I talk to you?" His harsh tone implied that it was less of a request and more of a demand.

"Uh, sure," Blaine said slowly, trying to assess the situation quickly. He excused himself from Wes and David without looking at them, and followed Kurt, who had spun on his heel and begun walking away.

Blaine hurried to catch up, and found himself in one of the empty practice rooms, the door shut firmly against the usual morning hallway traffic.

"Blaine Devon Anderson. What. Did. You. Do." Kurt's eyes, which hid nothing, were full of anger.

"Whoa," Blaine said calmly, stepping back a half step and wondering how Kurt knew his middle name. "What exactly is it you think I did?"

"Oh, I don't know," Kurt replied sarcastically, tapping his finger with his chin. "Let's see. You decide, after listening to one of Coach Sylvester's insane rants, that we need to be 'sexified' – not a word, by the way – and drag us all to some godforsaken warehouse where we proceed to perform for a bunch of girls and then spray foam all over everyone. I won't even ask what kind of budget this group has that you can go renting that type of equipment, or complain to you about what it did to my uniform. But I digress.

Then, you tell me I'm not being sexy enough, and generally make me feel uncomfortable." He paused, taking a breath and walking about the room a little.

"Okay. I know all this, and I know you were upset with me, but I thought we were okay," Blaine softly interjected.

Kurt turned back to face him. "You know, maybe we were. But then… _then_ the story gets interesting. I'm not a big believer in coincidences, Blaine. Fate, karma, those types of things never made sense to me. So, I find it hard to believe that the day after our conversation, I just happen to be approached by my father."

Blaine blanched. Oh. _Oh_.

"That's right, Blaine. Oh." Apparently, Blaine had said that out loud. "My father, who has always had a 'you do your thing, I'll do mine' approach, suddenly sits me down for The Talk. There were _pamphlets_ , Blaine. I had to sit at my fricking kitchen table with my father while he had the sex talk with me! Do you know how mortifying that was? Mortifying!" He had circled his way around the room and had come to stand directly in front of Blaine, staring him right in the eye.

"So, I will ask you again. What did you do?"

Blaine gulped, but he was resolved. He'd done the right thing. He just had to make Kurt understand.

"Kurt, you know I care about you a lot, right?"

Kurt's stare didn't flinch.

Blaine let out a small sigh. "Kurt, come on," he entreated, taking Kurt by the hand and pulling him towards the couch. When they were both seated, facing one another, he continued. "Look, I know I probably crossed the line."

"You think?"

"I know, I know. I even told your dad so, and he agreed. But I don't regret it. I want you to be happy, Kurt. You were so distraught by just having a conversation _mentioning_ sex, and I certainly wasn't helping the situation with my comments. I am sorry about that," he said sincerely.

Kurt's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Apology accepted." Damn Blaine and his heartfelt apology.

"I wish I had a dad like yours, Kurt. Someone to talk to me and be honest and open with me. You have that, and you need that. So, if my overzealous interference got you to talk to your dad about something important – something that will keep you happy and healthy and will help you – then I am afraid I can't be sorry about it. I hope you can understand."

Blaine waited tensely for Kurt's response. Those blue eyes that said so much were a mixture of emotions that Blaine couldn't quite decipher. He'd always known his friend was attractive, objectively speaking, but he'd never really realized how gorgeous those eyes were. They were just…oh, wait. Kurt was speaking.

"Fine, fine," he relented, earning a brilliant smile from the boy beside him. Kurt shook his head and laughed. "Just try to avoid embarrassing me for, like, the rest of the week or so, okay?"

"Deal," Blaine answered cheerfully.

"Come on, we'll be late for class," Kurt said, rising from the couch and walking with Blaine to the door.

Just as he opened it, Blaine leaned in close to his ear and said in a low voice, "So. _Pamphlets_ , huh?" The flush on Kurt's face verified that Blaine could not, in fact, keep from embarrassing him for the rest of the week.

 _A/N: I always thought that Kurt must have realized that Blaine was the one who instigated the talk he got from Burt, and I cannot imagine that he would have let that slide, hopelessly in love with Blaine or not._


	20. Underline

**Underline**

 _A/N: You are not allowed to judge me for the fact that this was the first association I had with the word "underline." This chapter goes along with my story for the prompt "Mist."_

Kurt was a couple of blocks from the store when he realized he'd forgotten his wallet at home. With a muttered curse, he turned back to retrieve it.

He entered the apartment quietly, not wanting to disturb Blaine. Part of the reason he'd gone to the store alone was to give Blaine a chance to finish his term paper in peace and quiet. He was having a hard time with this one, and Kurt could sympathize.

However, upon entering, he discovered two things. One, Blaine wasn't at the table on the computer where Kurt had left him ten minutes earlier. Two, the apartment was far from quiet.

 _But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time  
Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time_

It appeared that Kurt's beloved was employing his theory of getting up and moving to shake out the cobwebs from his brain. Well, maybe not his brain, technically, as he was currently standing in the living room, hands on the back of the couch, backside sticking out and yes, twerking. He was wearing his headphones, singing loudly and twerking. To Taylor Swift.

 _I've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined  
I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!_

On the "oh," Blaine turned around to find Kurt standing in the doorway, one hand over his mouth to keep from laughing and the other holding up his phone, presumably recording.

"Oh my god, Kurt!" he exclaimed, ripping off his headphones hastily. "You scared the living crap out of me!"

"Sorry," Kurt offered, giggling. "Don't let me stop you. Please, by all means – continue," he added with a smirk.

Blaine sighed and gave Kurt a glare, though there was no heat behind it. "No, that's okay," he sneered. Crossing back to the table, he mumbled under his breath, "God, why is there always someone taking video of me when I do that?"

"Um, how's that again?" Kurt inquired, his interest piqued.

Blaine's eyes went wide. "Nothing, nothing," he answered, a little too quickly. He set his headphones down and resumed his place in front of the computer. "What are you doing back so soon?" he asked, staring at the screen and doing a really bad job at pretending to type.

"Forgot my wallet. Not important. You said 'always,' Blaine," he countered, moving closer. "Who's got video of you shaking that pretty little behind, hmm?" he teased, walking his fingers up Blaine's arm until Blaine shook him off.

"No one. Nothing. Never mind. Just get your wallet, okay?"

"Well, if you won't tell me…" Kurt trailed off, tapping away at his phone as he opened up a group text. Someone from the New Directions must know of this, he thought.

Blaine was up from his chair like a shot, grabbing for the phone. "No!" he cried. Kurt was quicker, though, and pulled the phone out of Blaine's reach, taking a few steps back. Blaine smiled slyly and began slowly prowling towards Kurt. "Come on, Kurtie. Give me the phone," he cajoled.

The game was on.

Just before Blaine reached him, Kurt squealed and took off running. The two ran through the house, around (and, in Blaine's case, sometimes over) the furniture, laughing the whole way. Finally, Blaine faked Kurt out and doubled back, trapping him against the wall with his hands on either side of Kurt's head. Kurt held his hand up as high as he could, knowing his slight height advantage would put it out of Blaine's reach. He gave Blaine a victorious smile.

In response, Blaine crowded closer, pressing his chest to Kurt's. His gaze flicked from Kurt's eyes to his lips and back up, and then he leaned in and, with a quick intake of breath, kissed Kurt. Hard. Within seconds, Kurt melted into the kiss, whimpering softly and draping his arms around Blaine's shoulders.

He was so enthralled with the kiss, he didn't notice the shift in Blaine's stance as he made a swift movement and snatched the phone from Kurt's hand where it had wrapped around his shoulder. Blaine pulled away slowly, with a final nip to Kurt's lower lip and a smug grin on his face. He stepped away from Kurt (carefully, as Kurt looked a little woozy), then held up the phone and wiggled it in front of Kurt triumphantly. He began to sing as he stepped backwards:

"Ooh, look what you made me do, look what you made me do, look what you just made me do, look what you just made me…oof!"

For the second time that day, his singing was interrupted, only this time, it was by Kurt tackling him and falling down on top of him on the couch. The phone and Kurt's trip to the store were soon forgotten.

Later that night, Blaine finished the best term paper of his life, proving his theory once and for all. Kurt never questioned him on it again.

 _A/N: Sorry for the late post – had to get the lights on the tree! I'll do my best the next couple of days, but there's lots to do. I've got so much to do, I've got so much to do, I've got so much to…damn you, Taylor Swift! Get out of my head!_


	21. Variation

**Variation**

 _A/N: Close to the end here, kids. Not sure how timely I'll be these last few days, and I am fairly certain my final post will be several days late due to the holiday._

Divide and conquer. It was the only option.

With fewer than 24 hours until their big Christmas Eve party – the first one Kurt and Blaine were holding in their new apartment as husbands – things were getting a little, well, tense. There was decorating to be finished, gifts to wrap, food to prepare. Kurt fleetingly thought that perhaps his expectations were too high and he may have overdone things, but he dismissed that thought and charged onwards.

One break came thanks to their neighbor across the hall. Mrs. Meyer was out of town for the week visiting her daughter in Florida, and had given the "nice gay boys" her keys, asking them to water the plants and generally check on the place in her absence. Kurt realized at t-minus 22 hours that they were in the midst of a Christmas (or, in Mrs. Meyer's case, a belated Hanukkah) miracle.

"Blaine!" he exclaimed in his excitement, practically scaring his husband to death since he was standing directly beside him at the kitchen counter.

"Geez, Kurt," Blaine huffed, nearly dropping a bag of flour.

"I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner," Kurt said, as if that were a complete explanation. Upon reading the blank look he received in response, he expounded further. "With Mrs. Meyer away, we have access to her kitchen, Blaine. We can divvy up the baking! Here," he said, shoving a bowl of cookie dough at him, along with several other necessities. "Take this, and the extra cookie sheets and go over there. You can make a batch of gingerbread cookies at her place, and I can make the other batch here. It'll go twice as fast. I'm a genius!"

Blaine dutifully did as instructed, not only because it was actually a good, time-saving idea, but also because it would give him a little breather from Kurt in pre-party mode. Win-win.

A little over an hour later, Blaine reappeared, a tray of baked and decorated cookies in hand. He triumphantly placed them on the counter next to the tray of cookies Kurt had produced.

Oh.

It wasn't that they were bad looking. Not really. It was just that there was some… _variation_ between the two batches. Kurt's cookies were perfect. Pristine. Identical little cookie men all lined up and ready to go. Blaine's were less Martha Stewart and more 'hey mom, look what I did in class today' in comparison. He was no Kurt when it came to cookie decorating, though he tried his best. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. This was not going to go well. Kurt had been so stressed out about this party. Blaine wanted things to go well, too, but he wasn't putting pressure on himself like Kurt was. The last thing he wanted to do was to add to that pressure with his sub-standard baking skills.

Making a snap decision, he picked up the tray and was about to throw away his batch when Kurt came into the kitchen. "Good, you're back! Oh, and you have your cookies all done – fantastic. Let's see."

Blaine must have looked like a deer caught in headlights as Kurt approached.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Kurt asked in concern.

Blaine glanced down at the tray in his hand and back up again. "I, uh…"

"Oh, my god!" Kurt squealed, seizing the tray from Blaine and staring at the gingerbread men piled upon it.

 _Here it comes,_ Blaine thought. He actually closed his eyes tightly, as if he could avoid the fallout if he couldn't see it coming.

"Blaine! They're _adorable_!"

Huh?

Blaine opened one eye first, just in case he'd misheard. Was that 'adorable' or 'deplorable'? And seriously, wasn't 'deplorable' a bit harsh? They weren't that bad, after all…

"Thank you," Kurt said, hugging Blaine swiftly and kissing him on the cheek. "They're perfect."

Blaine accepted the hug, as always, and when they parted, he opened both eyes. "Kurt," he began tentatively, "are you messing with me?"

"What? No! They're great, Blaine. Really! I mean, you put little bowties in different colors on each of them. This one has a vest, that one has a sweater…really, you outdid yourself here," Kurt gushed.

"But…but Kurt," Blaine stammered. "Look at these, and then look at yours," he gestured towards each tray in turn. "Yours are perfect. Every single one is like it came from a professional bakery. Mine are like something a kid would do."

Kurt reached out and took Blaine's hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly. "And that's what makes yours perfect, too," he said gently. "I love how free and expressive you are with your decorating. It's so _you_."

Blaine let out a sigh of relief, which Kurt didn't miss. "Blaine, did you think I would be upset because your cookies weren't like mine?" Blaine shrugged and glanced down.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt admonished, pulling him close again. "Making little Stepford Gingerbread Men is my way of doing things, and that's fine for me. I don't expect you to do that though. Yours are great, and people are going to love them." Kurt ran his hand up and down Blaine's back slowly as he continued more quietly. "I know I've been a nightmare the past couple of days about this party. I'm sorry if I stressed you out."

"It's okay, Kurt," Blaine replied, nuzzling Kurt's cheek. "It's actually one of the things I love about you – you put so much passion and energy into everything you do, be it a performance or a party for our friends. And if you get a little carried away sometimes, I like to think I'm pretty good at calming you down. I like that I can be that for you."

They held each other quietly for a few moments, basking in the warmth of their embrace and the sweet smell of gingerbread.

"Kurt?" Blaine whispered into his ear. "I made one special cookie for you. It's under that one with the red tie."

Kurt disentangled himself and moved the cookie in question. "Blaine!" he shouted, jumping back. "Oh, my god! What in the world did you…how did you…Blaine!" he repeated.

Laughing to himself, Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt from behind. "Like it?" he said, his voice low and seductive.

Now over the initial shock, Kurt reached out and picked up the pastry in question. "I cannot believe you made an x-rated gingerbread man, Blaine. I mean, what are you, twelve?" Blaine just chuckled and held him tighter. "Is that a Warbler tie – is this supposed to be _you_?"

Blaine nodded against his shoulder.

"Huh," Kurt muttered, tilting his head to the side, supposedly in thought but actually to give Blaine better access to the spot he'd started kissing. "I don't see the _resemblance_ ," he said, pointing at a rather particular part of the cookie and letting out an undignified squeak when Blaine nipped at his earlobe.

"Maybe you need to compare it to the original to remind yourself," Blaine offered.

Blaine's gingerbread cookies were the hit of the party the next day. No one seemed to notice that neither Kurt nor Blaine had one, though Santana did eventually ask Kurt why he kept blushing whenever someone mentioned them.

 _A/N: Sorry to be super late again. Lack of time and inspiration. If you are a "Friends" fan, you may notice that I borrowed part of this concept from an episode in which Chandler tries to clean the apartment for Monica and fears she'll freak out because he didn't do it right._


	22. Width

**Width**

 _A/N: It's an AU first meeting! Disclaimer: I'm allergic to live trees, so I've never purchased one in my life. Please overlook any inaccuracies._

"Douglas Fir. Balsam Fir. Scotch Pine. Blue Spruce…" Kurt mumbled to himself, reading labels as he walked among the rows of Christmas trees. This was his first time buying one on his own, and he wanted to do it right. No Charlie Brown tree for this Hummel.

Unfortunately, he was shopping for it alone, since Rachel was out of town on a holiday cruise with her dads. Burt would be flying in on Christmas Eve, but until then, the decorating was all up to Kurt. Christmas Eve was a few days away, and he figured it was now or never to get a tree. It was a little depressing, heading out on his own. He had imagined that by the time his first Christmas in New York rolled around, he'd have a boyfriend to share romantic holiday moments like buying a tree. There had been a few dates here and there, but alas, no one special had come along yet. So much for Christmas magic, he thought with a sigh.

He wished he'd paid more attention when he was a kid shopping for a tree with his dad. While he had enthusiastically helped with the decorating, he hadn't paid much attention to what kind of tree his dad picked. He never realized there were so many different kinds, and had no idea what the difference was or which one was the best choice.

He needed help.

He walked to the end of the aisle, hoping to find an employee. Spotting a man handing a tree to a young couple and giving them a cheerful wave, he headed over to catch his attention. "Excuse me," he said softly.

The man turned around, and Kurt's heart skipped a beat. Lord, he was handsome. "Um, hi. Can I ask you a question? I'm new to all this," he waved in the general direction of the trees behind him.

"My name's Blaine," the man replied, reaching out his hand.

Handsome _and_ well-mannered. "Kurt," he responded in kind, shaking the offered hand.

"So, Kurt, how can I help you?"

Kurt explained his plight quickly, feeling a bit embarrassed by his lack of knowledge about something as simple as buying a Christmas tree. However, Blaine's friendly and easy demeanor soon banished his insecurity. Kurt couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so at ease with someone.

Blaine walked him through the tree lot, explaining the differences in the types of trees, pointing out his favorites, and asking pertinent questions such as how much room Kurt had available (he'd thought about height, but it never crossed his mind to think about the _width_ ). He interspersed the shop talk with light conversation, and Kurt even heard him humming along with the holiday music now and again.

At the end of the last row, Blaine stopped and turned to face Kurt. His hazel eyes reflected the twinkle lights strung festively, and his breath came out in little puffs of fog in the chill night air. "Well, I suppose I should leave you to make your decision."

"No, don't," Kurt hurriedly said, reaching out a hand and placing it on Blaine's arm to stop him from leaving.

Blaine smiled warmly. "Oh, do you know what you want?"

Kurt cleared his throat at _that_ loaded question. "You know, I think I do," he answered with a smile of his own. He realized his hand was still on Blaine's arm, and he dropped it, blushing faintly. "I mean, um, I think I like that Douglas Fir you showed me, he said shyly.

"Ah, a classic choice. Excellent tree," Blaine replied. "Come on, let's get it wrapped up for you.

Kurt watched as Blaine did his job preparing the tree for travel. Kurt took care of paying, and it seemed like the process was all done. Kurt was happy with his selection, but found himself not wanting to leave.

"So, where's your car?" Blaine asked, holding the now trussed-up tree next to him.

"Um, I don't have a car. I just live a few blocks away, so I walked."

Blaine bit his lip and looked down, seemingly trying to hide a smile. "And you came alone?" he asked, looking at Kurt with a hint of amusement.

"Yes, Blaine, I came alone," Kurt repeated, not understanding where this was going.

"Kurt, you can't carry this tree home by yourself," Blaine said, shaking his head.

Kurt huffed in annoyance. Who was this guy? Kurt had at least an inch or two on him, and surely he was strong enough to handle a silly little Christmas tree. "I'll be fine," he huffed, grabbing the tree and pulling it towards him.

Blaine let go and held his hands up in surrender. Kurt was caught a little off balance, but recovered quickly. As if. He bent at the knees a little, reached around to get a better grip on the ropes, and let the tree tip forward from its standing position so he could carry it sideways.

He promptly dropped it.

Okay, so apparently live trees were a lot heavier than he anticipated. Well, crap.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked. Kurt looked up and, with relief, saw that Blaine didn't look smug or scornful – just concerned.

"Are you asking me, or the tree?" he answered flatly, trying to cover his embarrassment.

Blaine chuckled. "You, silly. That Doug Fir can take it."

"Well, aside my pride, nothing seems to have been damaged, then," he said, earning another hearty laugh from Blaine.

"Give me a minute – just wait here, okay?" He waited for a nod from Kurt and then turned and walked over to a small trailer on the lot. Moments later, he reappeared. "Okay, let's go," he declared.

"Go…where, exactly?" Kurt inquired.

"Back to your place," Blaine responded, his eyes going wide immediately as he hurried on, "to take the tree…to deliver the tree to your home, I mean," he finished, his cheeks a little redder than even the winter air had made them.

"Blaine, you can't. I mean, you're working," Kurt argued.

"Nope. Taking my break. I just talked to my uncle – he runs this place – and told him I'd be back in a little while. We're all good." He bent down and took a hold of the trunk of the tree, looking up at Kurt expectantly. "You ready?"

Kurt smiled happily. Maybe there was a little Christmas magic for him this year after all. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm ready."

 _A/N: May you all find a glimmer of Christmas magic wherever you are…_


	23. YearZone

**Year/Zone**

 _A/N: Hi, all! Sorry to be late, but my time was not my own the past few days. I hope you don't mind that I combined the last two prompts. I had my idea for "Year" all set, and then when "Zone" came up, it just sort of fit into that story, too. This is a Dalton!Klaine story, but I've messed with their canon timeline a bit – they've been together a couple of months as the holidays are coming. Without further ado, here's my final chapter for the 2017 Klaine Advent…_

On the last day of school before the Christmas break, Kurt returned to his room to find a note taped to the door. _Meet me in my room at 7pm. Wear something nice_. The note was unsigned, but Kurt would know the hand anywhere. With a secretive smile, he hurried into his room to get ready.

At exactly seven o'clock, he knocked on Blaine's dorm room door. He took a few seconds to smooth out a non-existent wrinkle from the front of his Alexander McQueen vest, grateful that he hadn't let his father talk him out of bringing some of his best clothes with him to Dalton. Burt had argued that they wouldn't be needed since Dalton students wore a uniform, but Kurt had insisted that one never knew when there would be an opportunity for fashion.

The door opened, and Kurt's breath caught in his throat. There stood Blaine, his boyfriend of all of two months now, looking stunningly handsome in a sleek burgundy jacket, fitted black slacks, a pristine white shirt and a black and burgundy striped bowtie. Kurt gaped for a moment, drawing a smirk from Blaine, who reached out a hand to guide him inside.

"Blaine, what…" Kurt stammered, unable to find words as he looked around.

The dorm room had been transformed. It was bathed in dim, romantic light from several strings of softly-glowing fairy lights adorning the room. The furniture had been rearranged so that the small desk doubled as a dinner table, complete with tablecloth, candles, and a place setting for two. The bed was pushed aside to leave an open area next to the table, above which a small disco ball was hanging. (If anyone had asked Kurt beforehand, he would have said a disco ball was tacky, but in the flickering candlelight, it added an almost ethereal quality to the room.)

Kurt turned around to face Blaine, now standing with his back against the closed door and smiling. Above his head was a banner that read "Happy New Year."

"Hi," Blaine greeted Kurt, stepping forward and sliding a hand around his waist to give him kiss on the cheek. "You look incredible," he added, sincerely.

"Thank you, so do you," Kurt answered, bemused. Before he could ask the obvious question, Blaine explained.

"I was thinking that it's a shame we can't be together on New Year's Eve, since you'll be with your family in Lima and my parents are taking me out to LA to see Cooper," he began, moving his hand to the small of Kurt's back and guiding him towards the makeshift dinner table. "So, I thought we could do our own New Year's here, tonight."

Kurt shook his head in amazement. "And here I thought I was the silly romantic," he teased, leaning in to kiss Blaine swiftly on the lips.

"Shall we?" Blaine asked, holding out Kurt's chair for him to sit.

Dinner was simple (there was only so much one could do with cafeteria food in a dorm room, after all) but was just as amazing as any gourmet meal could have been. Afterwards, Blaine rose and took Kurt by the hand. Kurt felt a tingle go up his arm and down his spine at the touch, and he fleetingly wondered if this was what people meant when they talked about an erogenous zone. (Imagine his joy later when their relationship progressed and he realized that no, that was _not_ what they meant _at all_.) He let Blaine lead him the couple of steps to the "dance floor" under the sparkling mirrored ball, where they began to dance to the playlist Blaine had prepared in advance.

Song after song played on – some slow, some fast, but all of their favorites. The music eventually turned to all slow, romantic songs, and their dancing became more of a gentle rocking in one another's arms, interspersed with soft touches, whispers, and gentle kisses. Suddenly, a subtle beeping sound startled Kurt.

"Thirty seconds to midnight," Blaine whispered, reaching over to the table to retrieve his phone.

Kurt pulled him back in and slid his arms up over Blaine's shoulders. "Thank you for all of this, Blaine. This is the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me."

"I couldn't bear the thought of ringing in the new year without you, Kurt. So, even if we had to do it ten days early, I wanted to be sure I had the chance to be with you," Blaine said, the slight glisten in his eyes sparkling with the twinkle lights.

He glanced at his phone and held it up. "Ten, nine…" He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket as Kurt joined with him, "eight, seven…"

"I love you, Kurt," Blaine whispered, his hand cupping Kurt's cheek.

"I love you, too," Kurt answered without hesitation.

"Two, one," two voices counted together before closing the tiny gap between them. Kurt's hand cradled Blaine's neck as Blaine's hand slid across his back to press him closer. The only sound in the room for several minutes was their breathing and the soft sounds of kissing. Finally their lips parted, but neither one moved out of their embrace.

"Happy New Year, Blaine," Kurt murmured.

"Happy New Year, Kurt," Blaine responded, leaning in to kiss him again.

As the years went on, Kurt and Blaine eventually got to spend the "real" New Year's Eve together, often celebrating out with friends in all the usual ways, and later celebrating at home with their own little family. None of their friends or family ever caught on to the fact that they were never available on December 21st, however – a night which always found them alone together, having a simple dinner, dancing slowly, and whispering an early "Happy New Year" between kisses.

 _The End_

 _A/N: That does it, kids! I have now completed my third year of the Klaine Advent Challenge! I hope that you enjoyed reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them. My thanks to all of you for keeping this fandom alive and for loving these characters like I do. A very Happy New Year to all. See you 'round the fanfiction pages…_


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